


Self-Preservation in the Face of Help

by cinnamonFreak



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dave-centric, Dickishness, Emotional, Gen, M/M, Unhealthy Actions, Unhealthy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:08:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9262757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamonFreak/pseuds/cinnamonFreak
Summary: You don’t want him to see you. You can easily detest the way that he sees every inch of you. You want to push his face away and pull his hair and press him away until his eyes screw closed and he cries and he won’t look at you and he never will again because if he does he’ll worry about your hands around his neck. You want him to be afraid of loving you because you can solder his eyes shut and keep him from seeing you ever again.You love it when he puts his hand on your cheek and thumbs your glasses and sees you. When he rolls his eyes at what you say. You love it. He sees every part of you, and he knows that you’re a little broken and you wanted those shards of glass to be safe from him because he wants to hold your heart and it’ll cut his hands and he wouldn’t complain once. You love him so much it hurts, but you never want him to hurt himself loving you.Used to be "Another Cliche Romance" but then I changed it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Absolute, painful shit. 
> 
> They don't get together.

You love him so much it hurts. 

It makes nails pound in your chest with every heartbeat and it scorches your lungs. It physically pains you. You’d jump off a bridge for him. 

You’d shoulder your pain and carry on for him. 

You’d do whatever he wanted if you could just get over yourself first. But that’s a hard feat because you’ve become a tall man, no matter how much the weight of the world weighs your shoulders down. 

(But you’re not a man. You’re a child made up of misconceptions and confusions and you are broken. You’ve accepted this, but you don’t want him to have to accept it. You’re broken, down to your core, shards of glass lodged in your heart. It hurts with every beat, but you can’t let him know that. You’ve pushed the knowledge onto some other unlucky souls, but you can’t let him know it. It’s okay to be broken, but you can’t break him too. You can’t do that to him.)

When he laughed, you used to chuckle along. Now, you feel hot-pokers of joy pressing into your dimples and a string pulling in your chest, digging into your heart with slowly increasing pressure. 

You want to hate him for everything he is. 

(Sometimes, you do. You want to hold his happiness underwater until he can’t gasp for breath between snorts again and you want to squeeze every last compliment from his chest until it opens up and pours everything out. You hope for his heart to pour out as a liquid and for him to let it drain for you. You want his heart to fall out and bounce a little with each beat, like it’s flinching away from the glass that’s deep in there, just like yours. You want it to bleed for you. You want it to bleed because of you. You want him to already be hurt. You want him to break down into dust, his stomach compressing into itself and his hands shaking for you and you want every atom of his smile to die between your fingers.)

It makes him worry because you clench your jaw because he is so good and you just want to hate it (to drown it), and he asks if you’re mad when you look away. 

But you couldn’t be mad. You never could be. Because when he asks if it’s okay to do anything, big or small, you shrug and confirm something in a mumble. Sometimes it’s as simple as sure, but sometimes it’s the of course that slips out and you pray he doesn’t pay attention to you. 

You don’t want him to see you. You can easily detest the way that he sees every inch of you. You want to push his face away and pull his hair and press him away until his eyes screw closed and he cries and he won’t look at you and he never will again because if he does he’ll worry about your hands around his neck. You want him to be afraid of loving you because you can solder his eyes shut and keep him from seeing you ever again.

You love it when he puts his hand on your cheek and thumbs your glasses and sees you. When he rolls his eyes at what you say. You love it. He sees every part of you, and he knows that you’re a little broken and you wanted those shards of glass to be safe from him because he wants to hold your heart and it’ll cut his hands and he wouldn’t complain once. You love him so much it hurts, but you never want him to hurt himself loving you. 

You never want him to be hurt. Not by you. Not by anyone. You hope he isn’t already hurt. 

You’d cut a hole in your stomach and give every inch, yard, and mile of your intestine track for him. 

You’d tear out your heart if his asked. 

(Only to shove it down his throat.)

You love him so much it hurts and then he says those three words to you with eyes filled with vulnerable hope that are begging for you to just say what you mean and you can’t even look into those blue orbs. 

You want to turn away; you want to return the words; you want to press a kiss to his lips; you want to hold him; you want to strangle him; you want to breath him in; you want to leave him so that you never have to hear him say those words again; you want him to pick ever piece of glass out of your heart until he cuts his hands and your blood runs together and he nurses you back to health; you want to break him. 

You don’t say anything when you lean forward and kiss him and you can feel every hope being fulfilled as an arm hooks around his waist and a hand burys in his hair. You kiss him with everything you have and everything you are. You kiss him until his lips are bruised and he’s dazed when you pull back and his wrists are two threads and his fingers and hooks on your shoulders and that’s all he’s hanging by. His eyes half-lid and his lips make a smile that shows that he is in love with you so completely, and his heart is open for you. There was a protective shell and he has opened it up for you and let you in, and everything is pulsing and squishy and pink and you are small and in his untouched heart. 

Then, spike of glass come off of you and tear him to shreds as you speak. 

_I couldn’t love you._ Not like he wanted to be loved, at least. 

Your hand is still in your hair and it squeezes a little but that doesn’t hurt him nearly as much as the words that slowly sink into him. He swallows and bites his swollen lip in such confusion and it hurts to see him so hurt so you squeeze a little tighter in his styled hair. 

He wore dress shoes for you. 

He says he doesn’t understand, but you think he understands better than you do when you kiss his neck softly and he clings to you like you’re all he has and he hasn’t closed himself off from you and you don’t understand it at all when he whimpers and squeezes your shoulders. You bite him to the point that you know that his tan skin will bare a mark and you’ll be long gone by the time it’s gone. 

You just said that you didn’t and would never love him and he’s still so close to you because he loves you and it doesn’t make sense and you keep breathing him in while your tongue runs over the skin that you’d just maimed. You’re going to destroy him so that he’ll never love anyone again. 

You wonder if he’ll still love you when you’re done. 

You certainly couldn’t. 

He gives you everything when you pin him against the wall and he whimpers like he wants you to stop (you can almost feel his pulse under your palms) but he doesn’t say anything to you when you nibble on his earlobe and then mumble words into his ear. They’re so quiet that you can’t hear them yourself. 

Or maybe you just don’t want to. 

_I’d do anything for you, John, but I could never love you._

And then you kiss his jawline and he sniffles and his hands twitch with the want to wipe his snot and tears away and he fucking kills you because he says something that you can’t handle and it’s worse than any terrible, true thing that he could have said in response. 

He says it’s okay. 

And he means it. 

You can feel it as you begin to shake and let go of him like his skin burns you (you think it does) because you realize that he knows your heart is filled with glass and he would cut his hands all day long for you and that is so much worse than him being mad. You want him to scream at you and tell you to leave and for him to hit you and take your heart. 

But he doesn’t. When you step back, he leans against the wall and he weeps and you can tell that he feels selfish for it while he cries quietly into his hands and you continue to step back because you can’t watch this. It hurt so much. He doesn’t lash out, he lashes in and suddenly, you’re not the dangerous thing in his chest. It’s him. 

He loves you so much it hurts. 

You leave him there alone, and you make sure look back at him as many times as you can manage because your chest hurts and his eyes meet yours are you realize that he’s just as broken as you, or at least now he is, and you never want to see those blue eyes again. 

(You never want to leave them.)

You avoid him like the plague and your chest aches (and so does his, you’re sure) until you see him smile with someone else (not holding hands, not kissing, not loving, but just laughing) and you realize that he’s going to heal from what you did. 

You don’t think you will.

**Author's Note:**

> I have so much homework due by midnight tonight. It's nine, and I have to cram 5 hours worth into this time.


End file.
